


Psyche and the Beast

by Alexeigynaix (EllieMurasaki), AlexSeanchai (EllieMurasaki)



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hellenistic Religion & Lore
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, F/F, F/M, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Other, Poetry, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 12:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13295280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieMurasaki/pseuds/Alexeigynaix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieMurasaki/pseuds/AlexSeanchai
Summary: Once, long ago, there lived a queenWhose three bright daughters' beauty shoneIn black and red, in gold and green—What's offered meant for Love alone.The people whispered in each shop:The youngest one—the daughter ofNo one but the Goddess Love!A falsehood that Her child would stop.





	Psyche and the Beast

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://31-rabbits.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](https://31-rabbits.dreamwidth.org/)**31_rabbits** , when you get your AO3 invite, drop me a comment so I can put your AO3 handle in as the giftee here, okay?

Once, long ago, there lived a queen  
Whose three bright daughters' beauty shone  
In black and red, in gold and green—  
What's offered meant for Love alone.

The people whispered in each shop:  
The youngest one—the daughter of  
No one but the Goddess Love!  
A falsehood that Her child would stop.

Love's child, the Archer, took Their dart  
And aimed it for that young girl's heart—  
Blaspheming; Psyche was her name—  
Whose beauty lived up to her fame.

But Love is Beauty, and one scratch  
The Archer laid on Their own arm:  
The very dart They'd use to latch  
The love of Psyche to Their charm.

When Psyche's sisters both had wed,  
And many suitors she'd turned down,  
Done with a gentle, lovely frown,  
Then Psyche's mother thought of dread.

The people who worshiped the girl  
As one divine, or half—one curl  
Of hair a treasured, wondrous thing—  
The wrath of an Immortal bring?

So Far-Seeing's oracle  
The queen consulted; she was told  
In terms quite categorical  
Her people were indeed too bold.

The only payment Love would take  
To ease Her wrath, to Psyche free:  
Psyche's spouse must monstrous be—  
A feared and vicious fiery snake!

Instructions given: Psyche's death  
Must be upon first wedded breath—  
Attired as though a corpse, a bride,  
They brought her to the mountainside.

Her husband's home, and hers. A stone—  
For Psyche's sisters marked the spot  
Where they would later come, alone,  
With flowers meant to leave to rot.

And Psyche, left in meadow high,  
Soon fell asleep, and when she woke,  
She thought—a dream—it must—a joke—  
A palace, like the Gods' of sky?

She'd gone to spare her people pain,  
And now, it seemed, above the rain  
In shining splendor she would live,  
And wine at once to Gods she'd give.

Though Psyche hadn't come to know  
The mysteries 'twixt husband and wife,  
To his bed she'd calmly go—  
Yes, _calmly_ ; had he spared her life?

The one who met her in the dark—  
A gentle word, a gentle touch;  
A kindly heart, though fiery, such  
That Psyche's heart began to spark.

Then sunlight came; alone again.  
And so the days. At night would deign  
Bright Psyche's spouse to Psyche's side,  
To join as groom—or bride—to bride.

Then Psyche's sisters, visiting  
(For Psyche, lonely, had implored),  
Saw wonder, splendor—sickening,  
If Psyche's spouse were one abhorred.

And surely it was true that he  
Was that same harsh and vicious snake  
Whom Love had said would Psyche take  
As victim-bride? She was not free!

The mountain—trap! The palace—bait!  
Too soon his hunger he must sate,  
Devouring Psyche, who, in bliss,  
Would hardly notice it amiss.

A dagger they convinced her take,  
And lamp to light while husband slept.  
She'd see—and stab—not let him wake—  
No more a prisoner be kept.

But Psyche dithered: what if then—  
She'd promised she'd not try to see  
Her spouse in light; she had agreed—  
What if, what if, what if—what then?

Her sisters pressed her, and at last,  
Though fearful, she did as they asked:  
The night her sisters left, she lay  
With love, with spouse—she dared not pray.

Her spouse then slept, and she brought out  
The dagger and the lamp and match:  
To heft the dagger—feel the doubt—  
And light the lamp—flinch back: a scratch—

Indeed a fiery monster there!  
In human shape—inhuman shape—  
Discarded quiver arrows scrape—  
She spilled lamp oil—spouse woke: a glare—

Exactly what they did not want,  
Her Spouse—Love's child—told her, to daunt  
The dagger-wielding hand. It fell,  
And struck the floor, and chimed, a bell.

In lamplight, smoke; a blast of flame!  
The _Presence_ , angered, of a God!  
Resounding _Voice_ —a shout: her name!  
So Psyche crumpled, overawed—

The penalty, She said, Her child  
Would face for Psyche's blasphemy:  
Through some divine-led alchemy,  
They'd _be_ that snake of fiery wild.

On Psyche's head it must then be  
Her spouse—herself—to somehow free.  
Well, Psyche loved Them; this she knew,  
And They had said They loved her too.

But spoken words in darkness might  
Not speak the truth they seemed to say;  
The words might differ in the light.  
And almost— _almost_ —Psyche prayed.

To Whom the prayer? Not Love—not Love—  
For it was She whose wrath she feared,  
For it was She whose wrath she neared.  
And yet, what other God above—?

So Psyche prayed not one small word,  
And Love showed her a basket, stirred:  
Wheat, chickpeas, barley, poppyseed,  
Beans, lentils; and Psyche agreed

To sort that out before the dawn,  
The first of three tasks she must meet.  
And when the Goddess had withdrawn,  
Then Psyche wobbled to her feet.

Impossible, this God-set task.  
For spousal love, she still would try,  
And fail, and cry, and wail, and die.  
As well to paint her own death mask.

Alone she stood in palace, too;  
Her spouse had left her; this she knew.  
Not forever—so she'd hope—  
She'd die, and would they even mope?

But her Spouse had heard her speak  
Agreement to Their Mother's word.  
—The Archer too a God! She'd seek  
Some aid from Them. She prayed, thus spurred.

The palace echoed silence, scant  
A comfort though for months she'd heard  
No sound but sisters' cruel words.  
She thought—but she dared not recant.

When Psyche found the words at last  
To ask her Spouse for aid steadfast,  
No sound but silence answered—till  
An ant crawled 'cross the windowsill.

To that ant, then, Psyche spoke:  
The wheat goes here—here, poppyseeds.  
Ants' backs can surely bear this yoke,  
And were it up to her, their needs

The ants might fill by bearing home  
A share of what they sorted out—  
But fear Love's wrath, and do not doubt  
That Psyche'd give a honeycomb

To those who helped—here, chickpeas, please?  
By dawn the task was done with ease.  
So Psyche wondered, as she poured  
The honey for the ants to hoard,

What she might next to do be told.  
And so she prayed unto her Spouse,  
Still shaking. Rising, she took gold  
From jewel-box—from, before, the house

Where she and sisters had grown tall—  
Which gold adorned her bridal form.  
Two pendants and a chain—a storm!  
Was this not what They'd meant at all?

In thunder, lightning, and in rain,  
The wind in gusts of cold and pain!  
When Psyche woke, the riverside—  
Unfamiliar ground—she cried

For help, and no one heard a sound.  
But on the river's distant bank  
Lay briared, rocky, grassy ground;  
A ram with Sun-gold woolen flank

At Psyche glared, and made it clear  
That it was poised to leap across  
And prove to her just who was boss.  
The golden offering—the fear

That _this_ was what Her spouse had said  
Love wanted offered up, instead.  
For rams have horns—a large hoofed beast  
Can kill, if minded, any priest

Who'd come to offer _it_ to Gods—  
And not reverse! She was not strong,  
Not trained, not armed—not such good odds!  
And _oh_ she hoped this somehow wrong!

But would it work, she thought, to drown  
Her self and sorrows in this stream?  
Could she keep the terror scream  
From bursting forth—could she plunge down?

She loved her Spouse enough to pray  
That she—or They—could find a way  
To sort by dawn ten-thousand-fold  
Small grains, but to bring Love the gold

Commanded, votive offering—no.  
If Love her life desired, She'd get  
Exactly that! And Psyche'd go  
To Dead-lands—but—perhaps—not yet?

A stand of reeds—a golden glow  
Tinged fiery, _just_ the hue of red  
That Psyche'd seen in wedding bed—  
A breeze, a pipe-sound, tuned to _know_.

The briars caught the golden wool,  
So Psyche only had to pull  
It off, and take it templeward!  
But first, to find a river ford.

At temple, then, the offering made,  
She rested, wondering what would come.  
She knew at once: the Goddess bade  
That Psyche venture somewhere glum:

Enough so no one had returned—  
Not even Eurydike, though  
Her groom for her had gone below—  
He half-divine, as Psyche'd learned,

And she a mortal woman, weak.  
And she'd the Death-Queen's beauty seek,  
Were Psyche to obey commands  
From Love that bound with wedding-bands.

And she _would_ —well, if she _were_ —  
She loved her Spouse; They loved her too;  
But her return They'd not assure,  
For under Earth no new love grew.

And Psyche crumpled to the ground.  
So Love her life desired. Doom.  
No freedom for her Godly groom—  
Or bride—a small, despairing sound

Escaped her lips—a futile prayer,  
A fervent wish born on the air  
Up to Love's ears, a mercy plea.  
And Psyche knew, somehow, the key:

_Go south as far as south can go_  
_While still on land above the sea._  
_At Tainaros, in one hand stow_  
_Three honey-cakes; two coins—not free,_

_The ferry 'cross the river. Drink_  
_Not while crossing—don't forget_  
_That Psyche, you owe Love a debt._  
_Speak not a word. Try not to blink._

So southward Psyche went. One hand  
Held Love's cosmetics-box; one hand  
Three honey-cakes; two coins in mouth—  
Passed Tainaros, still heading south.

The cakes distracted Spot the dog,  
And the Ferryman she paid in coin:  
The Underworld, all dark and fog  
And gloom she wished she wouldn't join.

The Queen of Death a kindly face,  
Though stern, to Psyche's silence turned,  
And her request—it went unspurned!  
Fulfilled, departing from that place,

The second coin her ferry paid.  
But Psyche wondered—Love, arrayed  
In wondrous wools and linens fine;  
Whose hair might equal night, sunshine,

A simple soil, or blazing fire;  
Who large or small or short or tall  
She could be as Her desire  
Commanded; Who, adorned with all

Her husband Blacksmith for Her made—  
What need had _Love_ for what _Death-Queen_  
Might make to keep Her own eyes green?  
This curiosity, it swayed

Poor Psyche, once she'd reached the light,  
To open—with no prayer, no rite—  
This Love's cosmetics-box. Asleep  
At once she fell—unmoving, deep.

In dreams she knew: she'd failed. Her love  
Forever bound and monstrous-formed,  
Because she'd opened, once above,  
The box—the task she had performed,

But not as told, not by the rules.  
From death-like sleep she would not wake  
Till Death Himself came, her to take.  
(How foolish, thinking it held jewels!)

Even dreamers, though, may pray,  
And so the Archer heard her say  
She'd met the task, and wished Love'd free  
Her Spouse, no matter what might she

Endure for her own falling-short.  
The Archer then flew to her side:  
The sleep re-boxed, and to exhort  
The King of Gods They brought Their bride.

When Psyche woke, the Moon-maid there  
Explained that funeral-attired  
Fit not a bride; the Gods required  
The pledge; the cutting of the hair;

The cleansing; blessing; wedding-hymns;  
Jars with wine filled to the brims;  
Procession to the Bride-Groom's house;  
And _then_ she'd be her Spouse's spouse.

At once, then, Psyche's mother leapt  
To daughter's side—she'd be a bride—  
And Psyche's sisters, smiling, wept:  
She'd Love's conditions satisfied.

(Had King of Gods to do with that?  
Perhaps a deal the Archer made,  
For Their help—when next He strayed—  
With Heaven's Queen? Don't think of that.)

Thus Love and Psyche's mother shook  
To seal the deal. The Moon-maid took  
From Psyche offered lock of hair.  
She bathed in water drawn from where

The hoof of Pegasus struck earth  
To form on Helicon the spring  
Inspires poets poems to birth.  
Pegasus himself took wing

To carry Psyche palaceward,  
The Many Gods aloft beside  
Bright Psyche, garbed now as a bride.  
They chanted hymns, and jibes They roared.

Each mother welcomed to the home  
The spouse-to-be who's not their own,  
And at the hearth both Psyche and  
The Archer put bread in Flame's hand.

The Archer—fiery beast no more—  
Took Psyche's hand, to lift her veil,  
And on these flames the oath They swore:  
Fidelity They would not fail,

And truthfulness, and to be true  
To Psyche as was Heaven's Queen  
To Her Spouse, and to bear a mien  
That each morn Psyche'd see anew.

A cup Love offered her to drink:  
For Love had brought her to the brink  
Of death, and she'd not gone astray.  
To burn mortality away

Love gifted Psyche. How else, pray,  
Could Psyche swear an oath as true  
As that the Archer'd sworn that day?  
So Psyche took, and drank, and _knew_ ,

And to Her Spouse that oath She swore.  
Now Heaven's Queen, Gods' King, they say,  
At nightfall on Their wedding day,  
Three hundred years duly adored

Each other. And so might it be  
For newborn Goddess, blithe carefree  
Bright Psyche, and the Archer, wed  
By Gods' set rites, with love ahead.


End file.
